Morning came too early, dragging gray light through the curtains.
Elena woke with her hand still tangled in Luca's. His fingers had gone slack in sleep, but even then they curled slightly, like he was afraid she'd slip away. She lay there for a minute, listening to his breathing—deep and even now, not the shaky gasps from the warehouse last night. The locket sat on the nightstand, catching the weak sunlight like a tiny accusation.
She carefully untangled their hands and slipped out of bed. Her body ached from tension and lack of real rest. In the kitchen she started coffee, the familiar gurgle of the machine the only normal sound in the whole penthouse.
Luca appeared a few minutes later, hair messy, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He looked at her across the island, eyes soft with leftover sleep and something heavier.
"Coffee?" she asked, already pouring him a cup. Black, no sugar. She remembered too.
He took it with a small nod. "Thanks." Then quieter, "You sleep okay?"
"Better than I expected." She leaned against the counter, wrapping her hands around her own mug. "Having you there helped. Even if we're both still carrying last night around like extra weight."
Before he could answer, Sofia walked in, laptop under her arm and eyes puffy. "Good. You're both up. We have movement on Alexander."
Luca straightened. "Where?"
"Old safe house on the east side. One of Dante's street contacts spotted him entering around 4 a.m. He's not alone—two guys with him. Looks like he's gearing up for something."
Elena's stomach tightened. The locket felt heavier in her pocket where she'd slipped it this morning. "So what's the plan? We go in guns blazing?"
"No," Luca said immediately. "Not yet. We watch. We confirm it's him. Then we decide how to move. Rushing in gets people killed."
Sofia nodded. "I agree. But there's more. I pulled some old foster records. Alexander bounced around a lot after his mother died. One placement stuck for almost three years—with a family that had ties to the Albanians. That might explain some of his connections now."
The front door buzzed. Dante let Uncle Marco in.
Marco looked like he hadn't slept in days. His suit was wrinkled, eyes bloodshot. The second he saw Elena standing next to Luca, his face twisted.
"What the hell is this?" he growled, pointing between them. "You're still here? Playing house with the enemy while your father's body is barely cold?"
Elena set her coffee down harder than she meant to. "Uncle, it's not like that."
"Then explain it to me, bambina, because from where I'm standing it looks like you've chosen the Morettis over your own blood."
Luca stepped forward, calm but firm. "She chose survival. And revenge. We have a name now—Alexander Kane. Maria's son. He's the one who killed Vincenzo. He's playing both families against each other."
Marco laughed bitterly. "Convenient story. Blame a ghost while you warm your bed with the man whose family put the bullet in my brother."
"That's not fair," Elena snapped. Her voice rose before she could stop it. "You weren't there when the shots started flying last night. You weren't the one watching Luca almost lose it because he was terrified of losing me. Alexander has my locket, Uncle. The one from my room. He's been inside our house."
Marco's face paled, but anger won out. "Then come home. Let us handle this the Rossi way. Without him."
Luca's jaw clenched. Elena could see the old fear flickering behind his eyes—the same fear he'd confessed last night. But he stayed quiet, letting her speak.
"I'm not leaving," she said. The words felt heavy but right. "Not until Alexander is dealt with. And Luca… he's not the enemy anymore. He's trying to help. We both are."
Marco stared at her for a long moment, disappointment carved deep into his face. "Your father would be ashamed."
The words hit like a slap. Elena flinched.
Luca moved then, stepping between them—not aggressively, just enough to shield her. "That's enough. She's grieving. She's fighting. Don't make her choose between family and staying alive."
Marco looked at Luca with pure contempt, then back at Elena. "Call me when you remember who you are." He turned and left, the door slamming behind him.
The silence after was thick.
Sofia muttered something about checking feeds and slipped out. Dante followed.
Elena sank onto the couch, head in her hands. "He's right, isn't he? Part of me is choosing you over them."
Luca sat beside her, close but careful. "No. You're choosing to survive. To finish this. Marco's scared too—he just shows it with anger."
She looked up at him. "And you? Are you scared right now?"
"Always," he admitted without hesitation. "Especially after last night. When those bullets were flying and all I could think was 'not her, not again.' But I'm more scared of pushing you away by holding on too tight."
Elena reached for his hand. Their fingers laced easily now, like it was becoming habit. "Then don't hold on too tight. Just… hold on. I need that. I need you to be scared with me instead of trying to be the strong one all the time."
Luca brought their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—slow, lingering, nothing demanding. His lips were warm against her skin.
"I can do that," he whispered. "Scared together. Messy together. Whatever it takes."
They sat like that for a while, the city moving outside the windows while their world felt paused.
Later that evening, after Sofia confirmed the safe house was still active, Luca pulled Elena aside in the hallway.
"Tomorrow we move closer," he said. "Surveillance only. But tonight… stay with me again. No pressure. Just talk. Or don't talk. I just don't want to close my eyes and see Alexander's face without you there."
Elena nodded. "Same. I keep thinking about the locket. About how he was in my room. It makes my skin crawl."
They ended up on the bed again, fully clothed, facing each other in the low light.
Luca traced lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. "Tell me something real. Not about revenge or fear. Something small from before all this."
Elena thought for a moment. "When I was fourteen, my father caught me trying to sneak out to meet you. Instead of yelling, he sat me down and told me stories about my mother. How she used to sing off-key in the kitchen. How she made him promise to let me be happy, even if it wasn't the mafia way. I think… I think he knew about us. Or at least suspected. And he never stopped it."
Luca's eyes softened. "He sounds like he loved you a lot."
"He did." Her voice wavered. "That's why this hurts so much. Alexander took that from me. And I'm terrified he'll take more."
Luca pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. Not possessive—just safe. "He won't. Not while I'm breathing. And even if he tries… we face it scared. Together. Like you said."
She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
The fear was still there. The anger at Marco. The dread of what tomorrow might bring.
But lying there with Luca's arm around her, the locket forgotten on the nightstand for now, Elena felt a small, stubborn spark of hope.
They were broken. They were scared.
But they were no longer alone.
And that might be the one thing Alexander Kane hadn't planned for.